And now at last it’s quiet
Just the ticking of the clock
and the humming of the fridge
Little here for me to knock
So before I climb the stairs
and get the rest my body needs
My pen must get to paper
as some inspiration pleads

I find myself imagining
how the differences will
play out…
The unfamiliar,
lengthening silences,
stretching into the dusk.
The way dust devils will
gather in corners, waiting
for something that
will never come.

…shooting up the veins of the heart city, – a hundred miles an hour – as a a good junkie does well, and I can tell, that, despite admiration, I am fated for hell & yet oh well I don’t mind where all the ground fell while I was staring up at you through this miraculous well, and you were bankrupt before you decided to sell, and at your coffin, coughing casualties at commiserating children kissing flowers, praying by the hour, to not tower thus so high that one falls and usurps vitality, – power which dwindles stale & dwindles thus more sour; as if in high

“Karma,” New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. An impressive sculpture is located in the Sydney and Walda Besthoff Sculpture Garden, which is found at the New Orleans Museum of Art. It is made by Korean artist Do Ho Suh.

I am well past my 20s,
that golden time
when I only saw a little—and even that
with optimistic eyes.

I’m past the days of cheap
apartments with friends and wine and roaches,
lentils and rice for breakfast,
or leftover cold pizza.

I’m beyond learning of
war and death and pestilence.
The visitations of grief
have marked me, too.

I wanted to be Steve Jobs
I wanted to be Joni Mitchell
I wanted to be Leonard Cohen
I wanted to be Carl Sagan,
Bobby Kennedy.
I wanted to be that person,
the one they’ll say years from now,
“yeah, whatever happened to him?”
The way people do, about certain
Rare, shining talents, like Joni, or Steve,
Or Carl. Mystery
that can’t be explained.

I see you. Mired in madness, struggling to be free, you search for a way out. Embrace this journey as those butterflies in your stomach feel more like carnivorous crabs piercing the pit of your soul. Sometimes we must descend into darkness. Sometimes we must view reality through a skewed lens to gain perspective. I see you. We belong to the same kind, the same tribe. And as you fight this battle, know when you reach the other side, Retrospect will reveal your inner beauty. Ride this river of time.